Harry Potter's Portfolio
by Lurk
Summary: DISCONTINUED Harry expresses his emotions through paintings and sketches. DISCONTINUED
1. Chapter 1

Harry Potter sat alone in the Room of Requirement.

In front of him was an easel, holding up a pure white canvas. Beside it was a tray filled with paint, with many empty places to mix the colors.

Harry himself was sitting on a stool, holding a paintbrush in his right hand.

He closed his eyes.

A soft glow encased his body, then traveled to his hand, which slowly dipped into the black paint.

And Harry, his eyes still closed, created art.

* * *

Over an hour later, he reopened his eyes, now moistened with unshed tears. 

The canvas was no longer white, but a swirl of blacks, greys, blues, and greens. In the center was his cupboard under the stairs. Its door was shut, locked and bolted, but a small grate set in the top was open.

Through the slits in the grate, two bright green eyes peeped through. Red lines surrounded the green, giving the eyes a bloodshot appearance.

Around the edges on the canvas was color. Bright shades of yellow, pink, and orange danced in undefined patterns, just beyond reach. Around the cupboard, was black. Grey. Sharp spikes, ragged edges, and choking thickness.

In the darkness, deep grey chains were barely visible, circling the cupboard, as if to keep the eyes imprisoned.

The very center of the eyes, the deep black pupils, reflected the bright pastel colors, and at the same time, the colors swirled towards the center, as if being pulled into the eyes, an imprint of hope, in the land of despair.

* * *

Harry picked up the magically dried canvas, and turned it over. He bent over the back, writing something in the corner in black paint. 

He dried the message, and carried the finished painting over to his portfolio.

All his life showed in his paintings and sketches. He would never show these to another soul.

As he left the room, and it returned to its normal state, his painting's message was read by Hogwarts herself. As Harry returned to the Gryffindor common room, he did not notice that all the stairways aligned themselves to make the trip easier. Nor did he notice when he went through a secret passage he had never noticed before. He did not see Hogwarts trying to lighten his pain in the only way She could.

* * *

**"Artist: Harry J. Potter  
Date: October 16th  
Title: Color Blind" **

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* * *

**

A/N: Wow…this popped out of nowhere. What can I say? I love Artist!Harry. Hey, if you review, and you know a good Artist!Harry fic (not a "Harry is a blind painter in NY" type, but a "Harry releases his emotions by drawing" type), can you leave the name of it in your review? Thanks.


	2. Mine

Chapter Two: Mine

Harry stood in the middle of the room, a broken paintbrush in his hand. Half the bristles were missing from the inch-thick tip, and what was left was clumped together with old paint. Even the handle was desecrated, the end snapped off, with the words DUDLEY DUR still visible. A broken easel stood in front of him, its legs uneven, resting precariously on a thick book.

Harry dipped the brush in the half empty pots of congealed paint, and delicately painting toys onto the blank canvas. A teddy, with an eye missing, and its cotton coming out. A patched ball which was half its normal size. A Jack-In-The-Box with its spring broken. Each damaged toy was designed to the last possible detail.

Harry frowned as he painted stains on the teddy, shading and detailing the dried vomit that lay inside the ears. His breath slowed as he darkened the grey-blue ink slightly, in order to show the clear tape that covered holes in the ball. He shuddered while he painted the hat, designing crumples and rips all over.

The teddy's single eye almost twinkled when Harry looked at it. If a painting of a toy could portray love, this one did. So did the plastic soldiers, their broken, twisted arms raised in a salute, their melted faces smiling from the wreckage of their faces.

Broken toys and trinkets littered the floor, piled on shelves and desks and chairs, and broken wind chimes hung on the windowsill, spreading the sun into winking patterns all over the toys.

Harry dipped the broken brush again, and with a deep breath, began to hastily, sloppily scrawl DUDLEY DURSLEY on everything in the painting.

Bright red letters appeared on the teddy, its black button eye glaring at Harry.

Words wrote themselves on the plastic soldiers as they raised their weapons in a clear threat.

As each toy was claimed by DUDLEY DURSLEY, each toy looked accusingly at Harry.

Harry flipped the painting over, the room of requirement automatically drying the paint. After he signed the painting, he lifted up the broken, red brush, and wrote over it.

ARTIST: DUDLEY DURSLEY  
DATE: October 23rd  
TITLE: Mine


End file.
